Sunday, April 3, 2011

Where do I start. Where the fuck do I start on this topic. Despite how much it looks like I'm trying to be sycophantic, I'm not trying anything. Yes, I have lied in the past in order to fit in with somebody else's opinion, and to make it easier for them to like me, but that's not the case now. I think it's called pandering, well that's the word that springs to mind anyway. I probably don't have any right to prattle on about feminism, or the problems faced by women, since I don't really have the... em... relevant 'qualifications'... to warrant an opinion... but I still think I'm entitled to make observations regarding the world I see every day. And having your girlfriend call you a feminist does help matters. This is going to be a tandem rant tying in both my distastes of capitalist culture and of blatant inequality that seems to be going on, in my humble view. And, in this case, I think these two things have developed together, capitalist ideals allowing such things to take place, even fuelling the creation of such things. Such things I'm referring to are cosmetics, specifically make up. I might include fashion in this rant too. The delicate threads of fashion, make up and capitalist ideology all being woven together into a beautiful sheet, which in turn is suffocating womankind. And on top of that, popular media these days seems to have been brought into the fold. Why? Because everyone wants money. Everyone wants to hop on the bandwagon and attain all the wealth they can muster. But why? What are they going to do with all the money? Nothing. Nothing relevant. Buy an 80000 dollar umbrella stand like a disgraced American bank guy did? I'm not sure who it was but I heard a comedian talking about it, so it must be true. It's unnatural. I think it's completely unnatural to feel the urge to use make up, to disguise the true person you are underneath in order to make it easier for the world at large to accept who you are. Or as is important these days, to accept what you look like. Shite, this is going to sound very mean, but it's the only way I can think of explaining it. I'm going to make a few presumptions and generalisations, just so as not to confuse my point. I'm focusing on the primary driving force for men and women, apart from maybe food, the need for companionship. Despite how big a loner and how moody and individualist you might be, deep down, every human needs companionship. Even if it's just for a small amount of time. Humans are animals, they've just learned how to do a few funny tricks. Talking, thinking, music, cheese in a can, Star Trek. A few funny tricks. In my opinion, the best, most effective way of attracting a mate is through natural means. By following the primal, natural animal buried beneath all the funny tricks I've learned. Any games, any additions, any disguises just get in the way. And I think that as humans have invented the modern world they've somehow forgotten, or tried to push away the fact that they're animals. I'm only mentioning religion once, as I don't want to get eternally bogged down in religious arguments. According to the Bible, God gave humans dominion over all the animals. Let's cut through the bullshit of that, first of all. Humans are no better than animals, and people who think they're above such wretched, dirty beasts really have to shift their point of view. Despite all the shaving, cleaning, sometimes incessant grooming, people are still animals. And I really think that capitalist culture, of which we're now all a part (unfortunately), has deluded the majority of people into thinking they're better than that. Because animals don't walk and talk, animals don't have two cars, a holiday home and clothes. Animals are dirty things that live on farms or in the woods and aren't capable of intelligence. I think society has tried to convince, and succeeded in doing so, people that if you don't buy their latest products, don't remove every strand of unsightly body hair they're nothing more than a mere beast. And nobody wants to be seen as being below their peers. So you buy into it. You start reasoning that this body hair shouldn't be there and must be removed. What will people think if they catch sight of the fact that I'm actually an animal? Maybe they'll revoke my iPhone or my expensive handbag. And now I'm getting to my point. These models of how a person should act, applied far more to women than to men, were established long ago, before feminism was a blip on the horizon, and became an integrated part of society. And they've only evolved as time has gone on, egged on by the incessant drum beat of capitalist optimism. Ads that promise happiness, acceptance, the social group full of committed friends who can help you through the battlefield that is life, and only for $29.95 a month*. Postage not included. If you just fit in, succumb to the pressure to buy anti-aging cream and slim down for the party season, then the great capitalist god, who I call Consumor, jokingly, will reward you with all the things you need to convince yourself you're not an animal. Animals have hair on their legs and under their arms, so that means I won't be seen as one of them. But without the patriarchal economic model there wouldn't be any pressure. Greed is good, as Michael Douglas said. I think the male penchant for increased aggression is the driving force behind such a statement (I know it's a film, I'm not thick, but I think it accurately describes the nature of the economy). And in order to attain more and more wealth, to feed that need for something, the missing thing that seems to drive the vast majority of men, a new product is brought out. And nine times out of ten, this new product further reinforces one of the “roles” that all people “should” conveniently slot into. The social dynamo, life of the party, a one-dimensional, eternally-happy person, who's sole purpose is to facilitate other people and put up an iron clad front. Okay, I am a grumpy, anti-social bastard, but that has very little to do with the point I'm making. Back on topic now. I think make up and other mainstream cosmetics are the largest, if not one of the largest, areas that have been invented and developed by these greedy arseholes in order to fill the void that causes such ruthless aggression. And once the majority of people sign this social contract, I'm imagining a fountain pen drawing blood and the pen being used to sign a piece of ancient manuscript, it becomes accepted. And those who don't abide by this contract, signed in your own blood, aren't accepted, or aren't allowed into the club. What club? The club of people who think they're anything more than animals? The people who are convinced that the way forward is through falsifying your looks, through using naked make up (I've heard it called that) to fool the club members into thinking that your skin is artificially unblemished, since imperfections are unacceptable. And the kicker, here's the real fun bit, the really tasty, juicy morsel that fills your mouth with the taste of sour, acidic fury; the make up costs a fortune. So in the pursuit of acceptance, the wallets of these capitalist tycoons are lined. How convenient. It's almost as if the two are linked isn't it? As a woman, if you don't fit into this role, of removing any extraneous body hair, of buying the latest chemical shite that's advertised as the cure to aging, of coating every visible surface in an impeccable, unblemished sheen, then life can be made very difficult. And if life is difficult then that makes everything else resonate that bit more inside your head. It makes the things that might be missing feel that much further away. So while these “mighty”, superior men in their indestructable ivory towers are laughing maniacally like Batman villians, the majority rules and succeeds in convincing people that without these products they're incomplete, and all to make money. Because that's all it's for. There's no other hidden benevolent force at work, it's just a means to an end. But that's wrong. It's so wrong to prey on the need that people have deep within to belong to a social group, to have companionship if only for a moment. And for profit. Since that's what it comes down to. These fields are being extended to men now, but that's another matter entirely. I wrote this one aaaaages ago, but I didn't feel up to posting it until now. The lady does make these things easier to post.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

It's like in one of those old cartoons. When the character, in a feeble attempt to avert an imminent flood, shoves a cork into the tap in order to stop the water coming out. The metal starts to deform and balloon like a strip of thin elastic rubber, before, inevitably it bursts and fills the house up in an instant, breaking open the door, spraying out the windows. Or, I hope it's not like that, actually. Since I'll be the one doing the bursting. And the bursting will refer to my brain. And I don't really want my brain to burst, before I can make or create anything of any significance. The water, in this analogy, is my creativity. And the tap, albeit the completely malfunctioning one, serves as my creative tools. Or the shelf of my creative tools. The body, if you will. But wait... In my original analogy the tap bursting symbolised my brain bursting. Okay, an ordinary, real tap is my physical body and the one in the cartoon, the completely unrealistic, ballooning out one is my mental, non-physical body. They're both technically the same tap, but one exists outside reality and one exists. Detracting from my own point, yes. The cork is in. And, sometimes, I fear it'll always be there. For as long as I can remember, the flood has been trying to happen. But the water just keeps building up. Maybe it's the fact that my tap is so corroded, compared to other people. I'm not using that as an excuse, but I think I have a legitimate claim to bring it up. Mostly because I don't think it's helped matters. First, let's talk about the brain. Or the division of the brain. Between left and right. Trying to think logically about how to go about creating artistic things, really defeats the purpose of being creatively passionate. Those sides are supposed to be mutually exclusive, but, alas, I can't work like that. Me. I'm not talking about disabled people in general, as there are rather a lot of disabled artists. I don't really have the energy to think logically about how I'm going to create something. I can do one or the other, but the necessity of having to work out how to facilitate the creative process is too much... Is that the cork? Nah, that'd be far too easy. But water building up like that does tend to have it's stresses on the tap, both physical and non-physical. Maybe my cartoon one's completely inflated, like a bladder after 10 pints without a piss... I'm trying to say what I think from now on. The first analogy that springs to mind, instead of the next, more socially acceptable analogy. Sometimes it feels that way. I envy people who don't have to pass an initial test in order to unleash their creative water. They can just let it all spray and flow all over the canvas or the sketchpad, the digital CCD or actual photographic film, without having to wonder how to set things up to make that possible. Hold the camera up to properly catch the sunlight that illuminates your chosen subject. You don't really have to set it up, just intuite the proper set up (if you're artistic enough) and orient yourself to do it. It's annoying. Having to think around it. That often drains all the energy that might have gone to removing the cork. Am I making any sense? No I don't much think I am...The energy and enthusiasm that I muster up to tackle the problem of not being all that creative, always seems to be squandered on the lead up to it, and never on the creativity itself. A few exceptions, mostly all of which have been for my lady (we've talked it through and she's okay with that title), but nowhere near as much as I'd like to have under my belt. I'm not really complaining (but I really, really am), but it's an idea I've been unable to shake off recently... That's why I felt the urge to write this meandering thing...

I've started watching Six Feet Under. I don't know why it took me so long to start, as it seems to be right up my alley, but so far it's better than I thought it would be. Something about death is just unbelievably fascinating... And that's with an atheist viewpoint, one of becoming worm food afterwards. However, this is a television program. And death is only really a side/after-thought. Well it's technically a primary plot point, but it's dealt with only briefly, as it tends to follow living characters most of the time. And, in typical HBO fashion, it's brilliantly interesting. Just the right dose of freaky weirdos trying not to fit in. Which is somebody I'd like to be one day, if I can shed this skin of caring about what people think... Well, by that I mean people I don't like or know. The unimportant type of people. I could dance around it a bit more (figuratively, of course), but what's the point. I don't like a lot of people. For whatever reason. Until I know them, I suppose. Maybe it's the sheer amount of differences that have marred my personability with other people. Or the fact that I'm grumpy. Maybe I don't really not like people. Maybe it's just that people are intricately tied into things I don't like, so the not-liking (since hatred is a bit extreme) follows logically...I really like Six Feet Under, mainly because of how deadpan it is. Pun intended. The intro for instance is absolutely hilarious (most of the time). Horrible, yes, but funny. You can't help but stifle a chuckle (except for the particularly shitty deaths), at how terribly and unfairly peoples' lives tend to end. Perhaps it's the dark shadow of melancholy and grumpy air, the same that influences my music (evil laugh from Track 2 (Loke) off the Enslaved album, Frost. Skip forward to 4:00 if you don't like black metal vocals, to hear the evil laugh), that makes it so fascinating. How life can be so fleeting. Or something that doesn't sound melodramatic.

I think I need to start taking arsehole lessons. Because, to a certain extent, confidence requires the user to be kind of rude and stand-offish. The people who strike you as confident always tend to have a little edge to how they talk about people. Or to people. Or how they even talk about things they're passionate about. I'm not confident, when it comes to doing things outside typing. My physical presence tends to be somewhat diminished, compared to my typing self. But that's not really relevant. That's why I've been trying to express my opinion a little more coherently than I have in the past. Believe it or not, I think that type of anger helps. Helps one, me in this case, to develop a complex web of actual opinion... I'm rather angry about certain things (religion, some aspects of music, most MILITARY ACTION) and because of that, I tend to be more interested in forming an opinion about those subjects. Sure, it does lead me to develop a somewhat one-sided opinion, but the other side, the one I don't necessarily agree with, can wait until a later date... Or, if I'm feeling lazy, not at all. Maybe one day I'll compile all those arguments into something digestable. All my opinions on religion, music, people, death and 'life', which is rarely good... Manifesto (I'm borrowing from Marx, though the word has been used for many, many other things) is a bit strong, but meh... Melodrama seems to be a common theme with society these days...

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Consider this part of a rebalancing act. A new plateau, or something like that. Up on a few topics, down on some other ones. Alright, I'll do new music. I get black metal now. Before this whole thing (whatever 'thing' refers to...) I kind of put up with the extreme vocals without really understanding the need for it. And I figured a way aound not being able to understand it. Now, if I want to listen to a black metal album, I read the accompanying lyrics at the same time. Because without understanding the music, how are you supposed to fully experience the depths of melancholy and general distastefulness? Where's the sense of doom and dread, of fear and sadness that it's supposed to bring out. The music's only on half of it. Well, it's probably the bigger half (which means it's technically not a half). Something about a voice that sounds like it can strip paint really fits in with the mood that accompanies wanting to listen to black metal. People seem to think that liking music you can't grin while listening to and being nice are mutually exclusive qualities. And to be quite honest, I don't really care. But see, here's the thing. I don't really know whether people think like that or not. Or are thinking like that. Isn't that a bit weird? But it's what I think that other people must be thinking, mainly from their attitudes. But that's only a tiny bit. Nobody's ever come out and said that the music I listen to is shite (apart from my sister). This is just my insight into what they might be thinking beneath their passive facade. But maybe their passive facade isn't really a facade? Maybe that's what they feel like the whole time. Just in a delirious state of happiness the whole time... Maybe I think other people have a facade because of the fact that I do. Maybe beneath the glossy exterior is a glossy interior. How fucking funny would that be. Constructing all these elaborate theories about what people are really thinking, when really there's nothing to theorise about. Maybe it's the way I'm wired. Because if I didn't come up with this shit then how would I weave my web of thoughts on how capitalist society is eating away at the essential misery that everyone's supposed to have buried in their heads. As the bastards at Vodafone said this Xmas: 'Give someone the gift of happiness this year'. The gift of happiness. Are you fucking serious. I think that emphasises my point exactly.

Money, money, money, money, money. The cure to all the ails and ills of everyone. Yes, everyone wants to be rid of the dark, dreary, depressing demons that just seem to add an edge to stuff when you really don't want it to. But you can't get rid of it. Okay, some people don't seem to hear it as much as other people, but I'm convinced that it's embedded inside everyone. Why else would so many musicians focus on how miserable life is. Money and consumerism offer the way out. The way of finally shrugging off the gnawing voice and ridding yourself of all the negative things. But it doesn't work, now does it. If it did then we'd surely be living in a crime free utopia where people aren't greedy and don't feel the need to hoard as much useless crap as they can. If it really did kill the clawing monkey, then why would people still want more. Surely they'd be the most generous person in existence, because their soul is pure and they have no malice, no drive to place themselves in a higher position than somebody else. But it does the exact opposite. Enron anyone? Sale of indulgences? You get my drift. Selling redemption, securing a place in heaven, all for just a few coins. Or a lot of coins. Or your entire life savings. But nowadays, when people aren't as religious as they once were, there's a new, secular variation. It's not a place in heaven, but the chance to be above the dark part of the human psyche. As if humans are any better than animals.With evolution, you don't just toss the old parts of the brain, they're still there, just hidden under some funny parlour tricks. Like talking, that type of thing. You think you can be out of reach of the ancient part of your brain that wants to disembowel any person who looks at you funny? Obviously it'd take a hell of a lot to bring that bit up to the surface, but it is still there. It might be far smaller and far more hidden than it was 250,000 years ago, but just because humans have pride doesn't mean they're anything other than tamed savages. I don't like the way the Bible says that people have been given 'dominion over animals'. It reinforces the idea that humans *engage uppity accent* couldn't POSSIBLY be in the same class as those filthy, disgusting brutes. Actually, this is another argument altogether. This is one side of the 'why people are arseholes' coin. Though I don't know... In certain ways humans are far, far, far beyond animals. As seen by how emotionally disturbed some people can be. Feeling physical pain from things that are purely a product of your mind. Things your brain have fabricated from nothing. Poetry, music, writing in general. All from nothing. Well nothing that's quantifiable at the minute anyway. With those things called emotions, every person is laden down with a dark side they can't get rid of. And, to be totally honest, not having it would be weird. I don't think people are complete. Finished evolving. All the twisted sides that people seem to have to their personalities, all the misery and depression that's still rampant. Because the ancient, uncontrollable parts of the brain haven't been fully integrated. Ever so gently, the square shape is being sanded down to fit properly into the circular hole, but that's still a long way away. Maybe when the planet's doomed to an icy death, after the banks are bailed out for the 20th time, after people finally punish the CEO's of all the Fortune 500 companies for being greedy, over-zealous bastards, when cancer becomes an anecdotal inconvenience and people finally realise how pretentious Apple products are...... You know the way people who are deliriously happy the whole time just piss you off? That's someone who's pretending they've beaten the beast. I bet people like that are the most twisted of all. They get some masochistic thrill from putting themselves through the torture of keeping it all inside, then act like psychos in the safety of solitude. Debauched psychos. One particular example springs to mind............... Five seconds pause to guess where that was aimed. Catholic church, for the one's who didn't cop that. Do NOT get me started on that. They thought they were above the all-encompassing dark shadow. Beyond reproach. Okay, not everyone, but a ridiculously huge amount of priests. Since I last wrote a blog my atheism has shot up several gears. Or the drive to not try and hide it, I should say. To exorcise the truth from the bones of the me who tried at religion. The wailing ghost who's screams haunt every person who hears them. One whisper of it reaches your ears and the ancient voices of the animals you've evolved from scream in your head, chewing up and dissolving the rational, sane person you once were. Or some such shite. Spouting crap like that at random is what black metal's all about. As of the past month or so I've been on a massive Bathory kick. Not so much their earlier black metal, more their later viking days. See, this started out as a music blog, but I got side-tracked. Sound familiar? Yup, same old. 'cept I might post this to FB too... Aim the hateful explosion at more innocent bystanders...